He’d left a rose upon the pillow, it’s crimson the first thing I saw when I woke. That color—so rich and vibrant—caught the morning perfectly. It almost brought a smile to my face, almost. The haze of dreams lifted and harsh reality settled in, along with a splitting headache. A shudder went through me, a shudder of revulsion and terror at what lay beyond the gem like flower. Tattered drapes, a brown smear upon naked, broken plasterboard, and the tight leather restraints that held me fast.

The air was filled with the stench of rot and human misery. It wasn’t only my misery, nor was it my blood stains upon the bare mattress on which I had slept; brown, crusty, and old. I was not the first, I was not the only one. As I took another breath of that foul air, I detected another scent, of bacon and eggs, of homely comfort. My stomach churned, hollow with hunger. The scent of food grew stronger; my mouth watered and gut gurgled with eagerness and unease.

He had been a blind date, but prearranged; just a public thing in a public place, I had even told friends to call the police if I wasn’t home by ten—as a semi-serious joke. There was a brief memory of confusion, of unsettling disorientation. He had helped me out of a noisy coffee house, into the quiet relief of the refreshing winter night. The chill air hadn’t helped though, I recalled a fall and he’d caught me under the arms and… And now I was here, there was no more.

The door creaked, I raised my head from the pillow, strained against the bonds, and saw him. He carried a plate in one hand, a plate heaped with eggs, sausage, bacon, toast, and even a few pieces of fruit. I also witnessed the cold cruel expression he wore, one that appeared almost like joy, but for the look in his eyes, like a shark.

“You are awake? Good… I was worried I’d gotten the dose wrong.” His tongue flickered across a tight lipped mouth, serpent like after he’d spoken. He approached, he sat, his hand descended to caress my bare breast and drift down my middle. His hands were rough and strong; he was someone used to wielding heavy tools, a carpenter perhaps though there was no scent of wood about him. His hand found the V of my thighs and slipped between. His touch hurt though. Rough, calloused skin abraded sensitive folds, then worse as he dug dirty fingernails into my oversensitive flesh. Vaginal muscles clenched involuntarily and a tiny flame of confused lust formed.

I let a yelp of surprise escaped, and begged with a hesitant breath, “I don’t suppose you’d just let me go?”

“Let you go? But I bought you fair and square,” He answered with a wide grin.

“Bought?” I inquired, baffled.

He nodded once and thrust his thick middle finger into my yet dry passage, my muscles squeezed down on the digit. “Bought and paid for; fifteen up front. Was to be twenty grand, but I promised to make you suffer before the end.”

Anxiety rose to the peak as he spoke, heart a rib pounding thud with a rush and ring in of blood in my ears. He continued to play with my pubic region, no attempt at pleasuring, only idle amusement. “Before the end,” I echoed, no desire to comprehend those words but they sank in none the less. He did not expect me to survive what he had in store.

“Yes, before the end. But I know you are hungry, that drug knocked you out for thirty hours you see. Allow me the pleasure of feeding you.” He plucked a fist full of eggs up, scrambled, in his bare hand. Bits of food rained down on my breast before he reached my lips. I twisted my face away, revolted, and he simply smeared it across my chin and cheek. “I have an IV prepared, to keep you alive should you refuse to eat. I’ve never run one before, but we have plenty of time to practice…” Reluctantly obedient, I parted my lips and let him feed me.

In no time, and with ravenous gusto, I devoured everything upon the plate. Each morsel, he fed to me by hand. I’d never felt so humiliated, nor so terrified. “Thirty hours…?” I asked.

“Thirty hours,” he echoed with a nod, “Happy Valentines Day.” I felt suddenly very sick.

“It was Mark, wasn’t it, he...”

He cut me off, “No names, I don’t want to know. All I know is that I was paid in cash, and someone else set it all up. Now you are mine.”

Mark, of course it was Mark, we’d broken up last year, valentines day. We’d shared such… intimate knowledge with one another, but the distance had been too much. He had gotten so abusive and so mean by the end. He’d sent me a bouquet of roses, just like that one on the pillow, and I’d dumped him over text because I’d wanted something more, I’d wanted him there.

“What about your name?” I asked, “can I know that?”

Instead of replying, he climbed over my naked body and knelt between my parted legs. I squirmed and tugged against the straps that held me, but they had no give at all. I couldn’t even lift my knees, though they were bowed out around his. Helpless, I watched him undo his belt, unzip, and let his pants fall.

Instantly his penis swung free, commando as he was. I’d never seen anything like it before, thick as a soda can and twice as long. I whimpered aloud at the sight of it, and struggled all that much harder. “Impressive, isn’t it?” he asked with a low chuckle. “I’ve torn every cunt I’ve ever touched, even my own Ma when I was born.” I could believe it, not that I could imagine any woman ever letting it anywhere near her.

He gripped that mutant prick in one fist and scooted forward to press it against my hole. I didn’t beg I didn’t plead, I didn’t look away. I tensed, bit my lip, and waited for the inevitable. To my utter dismay, I felt a trickle of moisture ooze from between my labia to run down the crease of my ass. The sight of that thing, the fear I felt, the horror at my helpless predicament, and I was getting WET‽

Blunt soft flesh nudged my lips apart, kissed my far too narrow entrance. I heard a soft keening sound that I barely recognized as my own voice. My heart raced, my skin prickled with sweat, my hair stood on end, and I waited. He knelt there, nestled tip to entrance, and looked up at me. “You are meant to suffer, and I am pleased with that demand. You are not the first cunt I raped, you won’t be the last. Do you want to beg me not to?”

I stared back up into his heartless gaze, my whole body quivering. With every beat of my heart, my vaginal muscles clenched and unclenched. With every breath, I felt a terrible, unpleasant fire build in my womb. Beg? No, no I didn’t want to beg. In stead I screamed at him, “Then rape me! Get it over with already!” I had no way out, no escape, nothing but horrid anticipation and terror that gripped my very soul. “Get it over with...” I repeated, quiet and desperate.

“Feisty, ain’t ya. Over with however, isn’t an option. We’ve got all week to get on with it, all month perhaps if you can handle it. There is no over with, only more to come.” His retort was slow and ponderous, each word pounded out like a sledge hammer on a wedge. All the while I could feel his penis twitch and throb against my entrance, as big as a fist. Around his tip flowed a continuous, betraying gush of lubricant.

Even in high school I’d gotten wet so easily, kept pads in my backpack, just to prevent the regular overflow and damp jeans. Right now, I wished I was as dry as a desert, and twice as harsh, just to strip the skin off his prick, but no… no my betraying flesh lubricated up and throbbed in eagerness. He was about to enjoy himself at my expense, and that depraved, unhealthy part of my psyche and physiology was eager for it. “Fine,” I snarled, “then get on with it!”

He grinned down at me, crooked teeth and once broken nose only made his visage demented. He was like a cartoon character, one of the brute dogs who beat up Sylvester, but without the sense of personality. Perhaps one of the Joker’s goons, drug addled and perverse.

Those thoughts were punctured abruptly and finally as he bore his weight down upon my vulnerable sex. His soft, pliable head squeezed through, barely, and his glans entered with a sensory pop—if not an audible one. I grunted. It was the only noise I made before my throat clenched and cut off all breath. I desperately tried to scoot up and away from him, to get him out. It hurt, oh holy fuck did it hurt. Nothing so large had ever penetrated me, nothing even close. Vaginal muscles clenched, helpless to keep him out. An expression somewhere between grimace and grin spread over my lips, it was—incredible.

“Oh...” He breathed aloud, a sigh of pleasure, “You work out, don’t you… my last cunt, she was as limp as a dead fish… entirely worthless after one fuck. You though, I bet you’ll be fun even after I’ve torn you to shreds!”

I managed to eek out only two words and a desperate gasp, “Fuck—Off.” Then he thrust.

My entrance parted around the thick hard lump of his dick. The glans had been bad, but it was soft, and even smaller than the club like girth behind it. That flesh parted me, not just my passage, but my very skin split. A splatter of blood hit his stomach and I did, this time hear an audible snap, like a rubber band breaking. It only grew worse as he forced himself inside of me, my skin unzipped in a ragged line along the top of my vagina. The searing hot pain of it overwhelmed all other sensations, all I knew was agony as he ruined me.

He bottomed out, nearly half his monstrous spire buried in my depths. There he stopped, and laid himself over me, heavily. He whispered breathy words into my ear, “mmh, you feel devine. Such a good, obedient cunt, all that squeezing… ohh you are so wet.”

The initial shock faded in time, and with it I regained the ability to breathe. Desperate gasps, choked by throaty sobs. Tears rolled down my cheeks, mournful, sorrowful, pain induced. Each of his heartbeats was echoed with a throb, a throb I felt like lightning through my core as his penis twitched. It hurt so much, an open wound stained with vaginal fluids and packed against sweaty phallus. I rolled my hips once, dragged the ragged gash across his length. It felt like a belt sander in my womb. I moaned aloud, then rolled my hips again and sobbed even harder. Again, then again, I began to grind my ruined vulva against his spire.

He stared down at me, his grin faded to idle confusion. I stared back at him, teary eyed and furious as I fucked him as best I could within the confines of my restraints. Kegal muscles clenched, hips rolled, thighs squeezed. Literally anything I could do to please him, in my predicament, I did. It did not take him long to feel it. I watched his pupils dilate, his lips part, and breath hitch. Within me, he throbbed, hard, and tore me further. Through the pain, I just rammed up against him and bashed his penis against my cervix, then behind it. It hurt, good god did it hurt!

“You… You’re enjoying this!” He whispered.

I snarled back, “Of course I’m enjoying this! This is what I’ve always wanted! This is everything I’ve ever wanted. Now break me, break me you useless fucktoy, show me how much of a MAN you are, cause all I see is a bitch boy with a dick too big for his brain.”

His expression shifted to anger, then confusion, back to anger, then the grin returned. “Oh, bitch boy is it? Fine, I’ll play.” I then screamed, a scream that left my throat raw and voice hoarse. A scream he induced when he pulled out entirely, then slammed his blood soaked penis in again. I tore a second time, along the aft wall of my vagina. My lower belly was flecked with blood and pubic hair red. He thrust again, then again, each time forcing more of his erection into my hole. Skin tore and tore, unzipping to my deepest point, then began to tear the other way.

My scream rose and fell between gasps, between thrusts as he raped me and pleasured himself against bare muscle and tissues. He slammed in, and detached the inner lining of my vagina. He pulled free, and a flap of skin fell to the bed with a soft slap. In again, bottomed out, and I felt a wrench deep inside. The next thrust, that wrench became a loose, uneasy sensation, and he sank to the hilt. Wiry pubic hair mashed into my blood soaked vulva, his balls slapped—for the first time—against my damp rump.

The climax approached like a wave crested from a placid sea. I’d felt no pleasure for as long as I could remember, nothing but agony, but out of that perfect, smooth existence of suffering rose a spike of abject joy, of utter devastating satisfaction. That satisfaction formed itself into something akin to pleasure, that pseudo pleasure became then an orgasm of such intensity as to forget where I was and what was happening.

All of his spire was inside of me, he had destroyed me, torn the very back wall out of my passage. I howled in an agonized bliss, confused and elated. My heart felt as heavy as stone, my breath weak, and throat raw, but there was a grin on my face that felt demonic. I came upon him, reached the peak of pleasure, and my torn, naked muscles clenched down upon his spire. Above me I felt him shudder, felt his hips buck, felt my own hips sink into the stained mattress. What I couldn’t feel, was the ropes of semen that evacuated with each shudder, against my exposed intestine. I couldn’t feel it, only the twitch of his erection and pulse of his urethra.

He made only a few bestial grunts as he unloaded against my viscera. A few, deep, bone shaking breaths followed, then another couple grunts. Then he withdrew and stared down at me with a mixture of awe and fear. “You… you came? From that?”

I gazed up at him, eyes half lidded, teeth gritted and body clenched as tight as a drawn bow string. His lower half was drenched in blood, the stench of it so intense that I could barely smell the semen. His jeans, still around his knees were ruined, and his flannel shirt was soaked to the second button. The sight of him like that, was enough to make me moan and hiss out a, “Yesssss!”

“I… I never… I never went that deep.” He seemed uncertain, confused, a little insecure.

I reassured him, “You were wonderful, so wonderful, perfect even. Now let me clean that demonic dick of yours. I want to taste it! I need to!” My vulva had never felt so wet, never felt so abused. Labia squished as a bubble of air slithered out of my passage with a splatter of half clotted blood. I trembled with agony and ecstasy.

His uncertainty grew and a frown spread, “I thought… but… I…” He shook his head and that old grin came back, though less certain, less intense. His shark eyes held wariness. “Alright, if you want to taste it so bad, never met a cunt like you before...”

“And you never will again!” I assured him, a rigid grin on my face.

He crawled forward, up the bed, and pressed his blunt tip against my lips. He was hesitant, fearful of teeth, but I didn’t bite, gave him no cause for concern. “Alright bitch, then you can be my toilet, taste it all!” he demanded, and let go his bladder right then and there. Piss filled my mouth and I drank. Sour, bitter, strong, and foul. I drank deeply with an eager squirm. My gullet rebelled, throat clenched, and stomach nauseous, but I forced it down with powerful swallows. The words, were right, perfect, his toilet, yes… yes I was his toilet! Cunt destroyed, body defiled. I drank his waste and wept with joyous misery and devastated bliss.

The last splatter of waste, I savored. I wanted desperately to vomit, but I held it down, held the shameful depravity within. I couldn’t see him through the tears, but I could feel him watch. I trailed my tongue up and out along the underside of his penis. The penis that had only minutes ago torn my body open and hurt me worse than I’d ever imagined. I didn’t imagine I would live either, a wound like that, infection was already setting in probably. It was the penis that had taken my life, the penis that had destroyed my future. I worshiped the flaccid flesh with tongue, lips, nose, and cheek. I moaned and mewled, sobbed and whimpered.

Bit by bit his erection returned, and I welcomed it between my lips, welcomed it to the back of my throat, and desperately tried to take it down. There was no chance, not from that angle, not alone. I withdrew and blinked my eyes dry long enough to see him, “Please, my throat, rape my throat. Drown me in blood and cum!”

His penis jerked against my cheek and slapped my ear. He liked that idea, obviously. “Fuck! You are one messed up piece of shit. You are mental. It is my duty to put you out of the gene pool!”

I squirmed hard, there was an audible squish as my belly clenched, and blood poured from my horribly fucked hole. “Yes!” I begged, “do it!”

He shook his head and laughed, but crawled off the bed and began to undo my restraints. One by one my aching, numb limbs were freed, then he dragged me bodily around and let my head fall over the foot of the bed. It was perfect. My throat opened just right, a straight shot to my stomach as I laid there, limp. A stomach that ached fiercely, with deep seated pain, and a pinching cramp.

He positioned the blunt tip of his erection against my mouth—and pressed. I parted my lips, welcomed him eagerly. I was close, so close, I could feel the edge approaching like a fuse burning down to the last. He touched the back of my throat, I nearly threw up, gagged, started to struggle. Firm hands found my wrists and pinned them along side my hips upon the damp, blood stained bed. I moaned one last time and arched my back, his thighs tensed. The proverbial fuse had reached it’s final destination and was ready to be swallowed up inside.

There was an intense boom, indirect and all encompassing, but shook my skull. He slammed forward, hard, and landed atop of me, whole weight bearing down upon. I shuddered with the anticipation of new found agony, waited for my throat to tear and my neck to split. Instead I felt him twitching, hard, under the most intense orgasm I’d ever imagined. Had he prematurely ejaculated? Yes, yes he was! I felt semen splatter between my tonsils, intense blasts, of reproductive material wasted upon what was soon to be a corpse, wasted in my mouth. The pathetic fool though should have emptied in my belly or lungs!

The twitching and shuddering stopped, the orgasm continued a moment longer, then a trickle of urine followed and flowed into my sinuses and out my nose. He rolled aside, or… no, he was rolled aside. I looked up at a face, a beautiful face bathed in the morning sun. It took me a moment, my coughing, sneezing, and wheezing made speech difficult, but eventually I said, hoarsely, “You… you remembered...” In his hand was a gun, the bang I’d heard.

He holstered the pistol and placed a gentle hand to my cheek, a thumb wiped fluids from my lips, then he leaned down to kiss me. It was a full kiss, a deep kiss, a kiss of such longing. I welcomed his tongue and nursed upon it desperately, like a child to the nipple. My weak arms encircled his neck, and clung. I held him far longer than he was comfortable with, held his tongue trapped between my teeth, with my fingers curled like harpy claws in his hair. But I did, at last, let him go.

“Of course I didn’t forget. You never read the card in the roses, did you? I should have been more blunt, I know now. Forgive me for failing you?”

“I forgive you Mark, I forgive you… This was everything I ever dreamed it could be!”

We had been an online couple, long distance in the extreme, half way across the world. But we shared certain lusts, certain needs. I’d thought he’d forgotten his promise, the perfect valentines day. I thought he’d forgotten or even misunderstood and just sent me flowers. I’d been a virgin then, before I’d spread my legs for a stranger in rebound.

He caressed my cheek once more, then helped me sit up as he spoke, “I thought then it would have been better to let a stallion deflower you, but after I considered it a while longer, I realized that we could never be sure… once he smelled blood, once you started screaming, would he stop? We couldn’t have that!” He shook his head, “There was an invitation in the card, to a stable in Mexico. I’d rented the entire ranch for the weekend.”

My heart lurched and stomach clenched, another splatter of blood hit the bed between my legs. I closed my thighs and squeezed, fluids squelched between, “Oh no! Can you ever forgive me?”

“I forgave you the moment you texted me. I forgave you and beg your forgiveness. I love you, I love you so much!” he proclaimed, then laid me back against the still form of my rapist, the rapist he had hired. “Will you marry me? Will you...” he grinned and licked his lips, an excited, boyish expression on his face, “Will you be my toilet and pain slave for as long as we both shall live?”

“You still want to die with me?” I asked, heart racing. He nodded and leaned over me, hands upon the dead man’s side, along side my shoulders. I sighed, smiled through the pain, and nodded, “Then yes, Mark, yes… I surrender my heart, mind, body and soul to your tender loving care for the duration of our days. My heart shall beat for you, my blood shall pump for you, my womb shall bare for you… though I fear I may be damaged well beyond use.”

“Never fear my beloved, even if your loins will not bare my fruit, I’ll find another use for it. Perhaps I’ll remove your legs and turn you upside down…”

“…to hold your beer?” I interjected, then giggled until I coughed.

“Yes! Exactly!”

“Very well my dashing knight in shining armor! You must of course claim your Droit Du Seigneur!” I proclaimed, then added sheepishly, “if a bit late…”

He kissed me again, and began to undo his pants. I helped, eagerly, then once bare wrapped my blood soaked thighs around his waist and pulled him into me. Small, he was so small, barely four inches, but against my raw, battered passage, he felt like a red hot poker being jammed in. I whimpered into his mouth, he moaned into mine. A few thrusts later, I felt him twitch, and scalding splatters stain my inner walls.

I thought it was over, nearly as it had begun, but his erection did not falter, his thrusts did not stop, though he had climaxed, he continued steady and true. Hot breath down my throat, the kiss we shared, shared breath, shared moans. I breathed his exhalations, he stole the breath back from me. I felt light headed, the only oxygen coming from the few sucked breaths through his nose; my own plugged with semen and piss.

My body shook, struggled, and squirmed, but he held me fast, held me against the dead man. My vision narrowed, my eyes wide with panic, but only was I given the dregs of his last breath. He moaned down my throat, his teeth scraped against mine, and I felt him sputter a second time into my ruined passage… then the world began to fade and the sounds of his wet thighs slapping against me, disappeared.

***

I woke to white walls and a constant soft clicking. I hurt, but not nearly as bad as before. A hospital, I was in a hospital. My hand felt warm, clenched in another’s. I followed it to find Mark at my side, beaming. “Hey...” I whispered, or tried to, but there was a contraption over my face.

“Good morning sleepy head. Good news, you’ll make a full recovery, though there may be some… disfigurement.” He grinned at that, scars were one of his kinks, especially scars he made. “Also, they are pretty sure you are pregnant. I hope it’s a girl!” A girl… a girl he wants to raise to serve at her mother’s side. I wanted a boy, a boy to grow up and use his mother brutally in her old age. Only fantasies… that were no longer. “I’ll call in the priest, we’ll make it official in the eyes of God, paperwork can wait.” God meant a lot to him, he wanted to defile every religious tenant, to have sex on the church altar, to piss in the wine and shit on the wafer.

He stood and hurried from the room, then returned a few minutes later. A nurse followed, rather annoyed, but she obediently helped me sit up, then helped remove the contraption from my face, a breathing and feeding tube. I looked up at my beloved and told him, “Best valentines day ever.”

The nurse frowned, “Honey, that was two weeks ago… You were in a bad way. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

I limply pointed at Mark, “That man, my savior, is my husband and God better damn well know it!” Then I sagged back into her strong arms. “Though I may need some help,” I admitted.

“Sure thing Honey, sure thing,” she told me, with a tear in the corner of her eye. Mark and eye exchanged a look, that was all we needed. No one else need ever know.

End

04/14/2019

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